The Black Banner
by DeathBladeVI
Summary: Gaius Marius pursues the past as he fights under the Empire. Ulfric and the Stormcloaks fight against the Empire for Nord freedom of Skyrim. The Dragonborn pursues his destiny. And the Black Banner will intertwine them all.
1. Chapter 1

**Ok. I know I am crazy. But after reading Clad in Blue, and being inspired, I'm writing the Civil War from my Legionnare's point of view. Also Seasons Unending. Check these stories out, they are crazy good.**

Helgen. I blink three times as I adjust my leather bracers as I edge the horse forward. The forest gleams fresh due off its trees and plants. The sun is shining high in the spring's sky. The wagon bumps along the dirt path towards Helgen when I hear conversation in the back. The snort of the horse brought more breath into the freezing air, and I rubbed my arms for warmth.

"Hey, you. You were trying to cross the border into Skyrim, weren't you?" a dirty blonde haired Nord clad in a blue curicass said. He was a Stormcloak, a group of rebels dedicated to bringing Skyrim under their rule and restoring the worship of Talos. I didn't really care, for I was just an Auxilary in the 4th Legion, sworn by the Divines to uphold the Empire. I had great respect for the battle prowness of the race that inhabitants of Skyrim.

"Yeah, I was. Crossing was blocked off by Imperial Forces and I walked right into the ambush." a green skinned Orc said. His voice was deep and commanding and he spoke with an air of confidence.

"Yep, same as us, walked right into that ambush same as the thief over there." the Nord said. A dark haired Nord sneered at the mention of his profession.

"Damn you Stormcloaks. Empire was nice and lazy until you guys came along." the Nord sneered. I hated thieves and I think he was going what he was going to get, a nice beheading, courtesy of the headsman.

"If they hadn't been looking for you, I couldn't have been halfway to Hammerfell by now!" he yelled and I snickered. He was trying to steal a horse from the Tribune, a Redguard Captain, and he had been knocked out by a pommel blow to the head.

"You there, me and you shouldn't be here, its these Stormcloaks they want." he said. His scared voice was now leveled at the Orc.

"I accept my fate like any Orc. I pray to Malacath for an honorable death." the Orc sneered.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now thief." the blonde haired Nord said. The little convoy continued their way to Helgen, and I turned the horse in the bend of the path, spiraling towards Helgen. Falkreath was almost directly south of us, the Pine Forest still rising and blocking off any view of the immediate countryside.

"Shut up back there!" I yell, growing sick of hearing that damn thief. Of course they ignore me, but everyone but the Orc deserved their fate. Especially those damn Stormcloaks, fighting us and draining our strength when we should be watching the Aldemeri Dominion.

"And whats wrong with him?" the thief asked, and I looked back, to see a middle aged Nord with a gag around his mouth.

"Watch your tongue! You are speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the True High King of Skyrim." the Nord said sharply. The Nord raised his head towards me and I gave a nod of respect, for this man was a Jarl.

"Ulfric, the Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion!" the thief half yelled disbelieving. "By the gods, where are they taking us?"

We're taking you to get beheaded by the headsman you damn thief. Hope you fucking die.

"I don't where, but Sovngarde awaits" the blonde haired Nord said, a little disheveled.

"No this ca't be happening. This isn't happening!" the thief said, panicking. Silence broke the air.

"Hey, what village are you from horse thief."the blonde haired Nord asked suddenly.

"Why do you care?" the thief snapped.

"A Nord's last thought should be of home." and I agreed with the Stormcloak. I wasn't a Nord, for I was a Breton from Skyrim, hailing from the city of Markath. I grew up around Nords, so I understood them.

"Rorikstead...I'm from Rorikstead." the thief said, resigning to his fate for some reason.

The walls of Helgen were seen, and the stout gates opened. An Imperial soldier clad in Imperial leather and mail was on the wall, and the red and black banner of the 4th Legion hung proudly.

"General Tulius, the headsman is waiting!" the soldier shouted below.

"Good, lets get this over with." an older tired voice said, belonging to an older Imperial.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh, Divines help me!" the thief pleaded. I shook my head, for the Divines would not help a thief. Might have well been praying for the return of dragons.

The town was large, for a village, and the main road was heading towards a tower. An Inn was seen and a small boy was sitting on the steps. General Tulius was sitting on a destier, talking with the sworn enemies of the Empire, at least in heart, the Thalmor.

"Look at him. General Tulius, the Military Governor." the Nord said, his voice dripping with venom.

"And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves, look like they had something do with this." the Nord continued.

"This is Helgen, I used to be sweet on a girl here. I wonder if Vilod still makes that mead with Juniper berries mixed in." the Nord said sadly.

Several towers raised from the ground were seen, and a small crowd was seen gathering in front of the keep.

"Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers made me feel so safe." the Nord continued again, and I groaned in annoyance. I was trying to get out of the Imperial Army, but my tour ended in five months.

"Who are they daddy? And where are they going?" the boy on the Inn stairs said.

"You need to go inside little cub." a man who I presumed to be his father said.

"But I wanna watch the soldiers." the boy protested and the father grew angry.

"Inside. _Now!"_ the man said sternly.

"Yes father." the boy said, in a tone of defeat.

Suddenly a torrent of new voices, one of them a Redguard Tribune started to speak.

"Woa!" I said to the horse.

"Get these prisoners out, now!" she ordered and I tugged on the reins, indicating to the horse to stop.

"Why are we stopping?" the thief asked, trembling.

"End of the line, horse thief." the Nord said.

"Lets go, shouldn't keep the Gods waiting." as he hopped off, followed by the horse thief and Ulfric. I hopped from the wagon and made my way to the side, keeping an eye on the prisoners. More and more Stormcloaks, at least a dozen were standing, in a line as ledgers with their names on them, and scribes were calling off their names.

They filed out, and the horse thief was trembling. The Tribune, or the Captain, was standing next to a a young brown haired Nord. Two archers were standing nearby, acting as crowd control.

"Wait we aren't rebels!" the thief yelled.

"Face your death with some courage horse thief." the Nord said, frowning. Ulfric said said something under the gag, something like a prayer to Talos.

"You have to tell them, we're weren't with you!" he pleaded towards the towering Stormcloak. The Stormcloak just pushed him forward with his chest, making him stumble a little.

"Step towards the block when we call your name." the Redguard yelled.

"Empire loves their damn lists." The Stormcloak muttered.

"Ralof of Riverwood." the Imperial Nord said. Ralof, the blond haired Nord stepped towards the block where a priestess was reciting lines, General Tulius was standing impatiently and a Thalmor soldier was looking at her elven sword.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm!" the

"Lokir of Rorikstead!" he called out once again.

"NO!" the cowardly Lokir yelled and took off. It didn't surprise me when the Redguard Tribune ordered the archers to fire.

"Archers!" she yelled as Lokir looked back.

"You won't catch me!" he yelled.

The archers Imperial bows were out in a flash and two seconds later, Lokir's body was strewn with two arrows, his ragged tunic was seeping with blood. His body tumbled onto the dirt, and the prisoners and crows looked in disbelief as Lokir died, shuddering.

"Anyone else thinking about running?" she said, her eyes darkening.

"Wait, you," pointing to the Orc." Who are you?"

"I am Urab, son of Urag, hailing from Bravil, Cyrodiil. I was crossing the border into Skyrim, when I ran into that little ambush of yours." he said, grinning, revealing a set of white teeth.

"It was a bad time to come Orsimer.' the Nord said, chuckling. Then his expression turned serious when he turned to the Redguard.

"What should we do with him? He's not on the list." the Nord asked, looking fearful at the Tribune. She was known for her cruelty, and I think that Orc is going to be sent back to his family without an head.

"Damn the list, he goes to the block." the Tribune said, not even thinking about it.

"Of course Tribune. I'm sorry, we'll make sure your remains are sent back to Cyrodiil." the Nord said sadly.

"Wait. Don't send them back to Cyrodiil. Can you send them to Winterhold? The College. Thats were my father lives." Urab said, knowing this was the last time he could speak. He spoke with a bit of sadness, but his fearlessness astounded me.

"College of Winterhold? Alright Urab. To the block." the Nord said.

The Orc nodded and headed towards the small gathering of prisoners. General Tullius looked at them with scorn, and got off his horse. Striding towards the rebels he stopped about ten feet away from them.

"Ulfric Stormcloak!Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the voice and kill his High King! You plunged Skyrim into chaos, and the Empire is going to put you down like the dog you are!" he roared. I silently applauded, for I feel that Ulfric was using the issue of Talos to gain even more power.

"Priestess! Give them their last rites." and his cloak whipped around where he started to climb back onto his horse.

"And by the Eight! Akatosh...' the priestess started but never finished. A young Stormcloak, no more than a boy out of diapers, spoke out.

"Will you shut up! Let's get on with this." the Stormcloak yelled and the priestess conceded.

"As you wished."

The Stormcloak approached the block, where he was pushed by the Tribune, and he was soon on his hands and knees. His head was lying on the block, where a basket was placed right below, to catch his head.

"My ancestors are smiling on me. Can you say the same?" the Stormcloak asked, smiling broadly.

The headman, with his giant axe, raised it high in the air, and with a roar brought it down. The head was severed, a small plume of blood was seen. The head rolled straight into the basket, and the body slumped to the side, where the Tribune pushed the body out.

"Next! The Orc in the rags!" and Urab started his way towards the block when a monstrous roar was heard.

"What was that?" I asked, and General Tullius heard me.

"I said next prisoner!" the Redguard was serious now.

Another roar was heard and the prisoner stopped in his tracks.

"What was that?" he asked, trying to prolong his departure to Oblivion.

"It was nothing. Proceed." General Tullius said.

"By your orders General."

Birds started to fly away and I groaned. If I'm right about the roar, the next time I see that Tribune, I'm going to run my sword through her.

She then made him knee and his face was seen smiling. As he looked, I heard a swoop of wings and I saw what I dreaded. The headsman axe was seen raising, when the black shape landed, roaring.

It was a fucking dragon.

Divines help us.

I was so going to kill that Tribune now.

**Whatta ya all think?**


	2. Chapter 2

I looked up to see some giant ass lizard setting the fucking town on fire. It was black as night, larger than two mammoths combined, had scales that glistened as the fire from it's mouth licked the stone above me.

"Hadvar!" Ralof yelled as he managed to escape from his bindings. I drew my bow and pulled an arrow from my quiver, loading the iron tipped stick of death into the bow. Aiming, I fired at the head of the beast and as I saw the flight of the arrow come in line I smiled as I thought I did a pretty good job at firing it. But then I saw the arrow bounce of the dragon, like I just threw a rock at it. What the hell!

"Get back here Ralof!" the brown haired Nord that sent Urab to the block yelled at Ralof. Ralof dashed into a stone tower, where four other Stormcloaks were. I saw Urab with them, as I sprinted from building to building, trying to dodge the dragon's wrath.

I gasped as fresh fires burst right next to me, and the head of the headsman rolled right in front me. The air had grown as hot as the Alik'r Desert, and I panted as sweat slicked down my neck. I finally made it to the stone tower where the Stormcloaks were, and saw two Stormcloaks on the ground, and one more keeping guard.

"Stormcloaks!" I yelled at them ,and they looked at me. The one keeping guard drew a greatsword from his back, and the blue sash around his leather padded jerkin shook a little. I then drew my imperial forged sword, and went to battle.

He swung his sword in a looping overhand manner, charging all the way. I stepped to the side, letting his momentum get the better of him and he sailed right past me. I swung my sword into his knee, and watched as he gasped in pain as the cold steel cut through his fur boots. I felt a small knot of guilt in my stomach, but I threw it aside.

He managed to gain his footing back, but fresh blood spluttered from his wound every time he put pressure on it. As the blood soaked his boot, he charged again, and his sword was coming into a spinning cut. I put my sword up and parried the blow, ignoring the ringing tone in my ears as the clash of steel set off small sheers of sparks. He swung again and I dodged under his overhead swing and thrusting my sword up, the imperial blade doing its job and bypassing his jerkin.

The young Stormcloak gasped as my sword entered his body. Hot blood splattered to the ground, as fire continued to rip through the village, and the shrieks of the wounded reached my ears, and the screams of the fallen never left the village. Smoke was everywhere, but all I could do was stand still, and see the Stormcloak I just killed.

The knot in my stomach just grew as I realized I took an actual human's life. Another man's candle snuffed out by me. I dropped my sword, and watched in horror as the sword slicked out, and the Stormcloak's body slumped to the side, a small frown on his now dead face.

The other two Stormcloaks looked at me in horror, thinking I was going to kill them. In my pouch, I had five healing potions, ones I crafted myself before leaving the barracks in Falkreath, where I was stationed. Taking out two, I see the red liquid swirl a bit, as I bent down near another Stormcloak, this one just a young lass around eighteen, only a few years younger than me.

"Please don't kill me." she whimpered and I stroked her long black hair with my gloved right hand.

"I'm not going to kill you. Here's a healing potion." and I handed one of the healing potions to her. She looked at me in surprise before I nodded, and she gulped it down. Moving to the next Stormcloak, I handed the young Nord a healing potion, and without stopping to look back, I ran up the tower's staircase and saw another dead Stormcloak, his body burnt and charred to bits. Broken pieces of stone were nearby, and I saw the burning inn. I steeled myself and jumped forward, gritting my teeth as I landed hard on the floor. Embers swirled around the second floor and I bolted down the stairs and into the main street, where a boy was trying to get out from under a dead man.

"Please help me Mr. Legionnare!" he cried out and I ran over to him, pulling him out. His clothes were splattered with blood, and he looked shook up, but he looked fine.

"Whats your name son?" I asked.

"Haming. Where's my pa and ma?" he asked, looked a little worried. As I scanned the area, I saw two bodies sprawled over debris of the inn. The Dragon was still there, burning the town, and very few Legionnares were still there. I saw General Tullius gallop through the keep, where four Legionnares were fighting, holy crap, they were fighting Ulfric. Tullius was attempting to help them, but the timely arrival of two Stormcloaks forced him to move against him. I watched in amazement as the armored horse reared back and snapped his hooves back, and one of the Stormcloaks got caught and he flew and slammed into the keep, his back twisted into a strange angle and an audible snap as his spine broke.

"Gaius!" I turned to see another Legionnare running up to me. He was a Nord, with black hair, clad in Imperial Mail, and was wielding a steel greatsword.

"Mason!" I yell back, and he ushered me and Haming into the inn, where the flames had subsided. I saw the dragon take off, heading towards a destination unknown. General Tullius and seven other Legionnares were still around. The dead bodies of three Stormcloaks surrounded them, and five Thalmor soldiers were sprawled at the doors to the keep.

"Gaius. Every single civilian is dead. Only this boy is the last remaining. We don't where that Orc prisoner went or Hadvar. Last time we saw them, they disappeared into the keep together." Mason said.

"What do you need me to do?" I asked.

"I need you to take Haming to Falkreath and meet with the Jarl. He's some hotshot spread the word of the Dragon attack on Helgen in Falkreath." Mason said with some venom.

"I'm just an Auxilary, I don't have any power to meet him." I said. I have heard stories about the Jarl of Falkreath. He was some kid that thought being the Jarl of a hold meant letting your steward do all the freaking job.

"Not anymore. Tullius just promoted me and you to Tribune and Quaestor. As soon as you meet with the Jarl, you are taking command of a contubernia, or eight Auxilaries. All I know that Tullius is sending me to the Reach to take command of the garrison at Fort Sungard." Mason said. His armor gleamed in the fires as it licked the the stone keep.

"A centuria in the Reach? You are reaching new places." I joked.

"We are abandoning Helgen. We don't have the men to garrison the place. The remnants of the garrison are being sent to Falkreath." Mason said to me. I tugged on my kilt feeling a small draft as the northern winds started to come.

"So I'm heading to Falkreath?"

"Yes."

I nodded an ok and I went over to Haming, who was standing over his parents dead bodies.

"What I am going to do?" he said looking at me with sad eyes. I didn't what to say, so I just settled for what my mother always said. if she was here, she would chew me out for not being more careful.

"I think the best thing to do is move on. Don't dwell on their deaths. If we dwell on the deaths of our loved ones, we become distracted, and in Skyrim we don't need distractions. You are a Nord. I am a Breton. But many ways, You and me are the same. I lost my father in the attack on Markarth by Ulfric, and I hated the man for that. But we are in the middle of a civil war. We must move on." I said. My mother had said the exact same thing by my mother when I was young only four years old. I still remember the fires as the Nord militia attacked the city. The power of Ulfric's thu'um. The blue shock waves as the blue sashes of the Stormcloak militia smashed through the city's defenses. The fires, the screams, the laughing, the howling...I shuddered and blanked out. The shrieks of my mother as she was raped by a giant Nord with a iron warhammer and a giant grin.

"Sir?" Haming asked and I smiled, though it was sad, he returned it.

"Yes Haming. Let us depart." and as him and I pushed through the now broken doors of the village, we walked down the path that had brought us to Helgen. The walk to Falkreath lasted only an hour, and I didn't have to fend off any bandits or wolves.

The city of Falkreath was small, tucked near a valley. The Jarl's Longhouse, just a long slender wooden building came into view as the small wooden wall surrounding the city blocked anyway into the city. A guard, wearing a hide helmet along with the blue sash of Falkreath, carrying a wooden shield with the elk emblem of the Falkreath Hold.

"Halt!" he yelled and Haming and me stopped.

"What is your business in Falkreath?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. He was around twenty-seven, and spoke with some nervousness.

"I am Quaestor Gaius Marius of the 4th Legion. 1st contubernia, 1st centuria, 1st cohort. We are based here in Falkreath." I said and the guard snapped into attention.

"Quaestor! Open the gates!" and the wooden gate that blocked our way swung open, revealing a small dirt pathway. Several guards were patrolling the area, the orange glow in the sky slowly coming down, and the black clouds started their pour. Falkreath was a major timber center, and the headquarters of the 1st Cohort. It was lead by Legate Skulnar, a Nord that was honorable and a good commander. He was the one that planned the ambush on Ulfric, and lead his soldiers in battle. Falkreath was a strategic location, whoever controlled it was able to bypass Whiterun and head up to the Reach. I shook my head. I was no strategist.

Falkreath Hold held about five thousand people, which about a thousand or so lived in Falkreath. It boasted a small army of around six hundred, all of them Hold guards as well. The blue banner of the elk hung proudly as I knocked on the door of the Longhouse. A Nord guard answered it, and when he saw me, he let me through.

The hall of the Longhouse held a small fire in the middle, and several rooms were visible. A man was sitting on a throne, a Nord. He had black hair, strong arms, and was wearing Jarl's robes. On his head was a small crown, rimmed with gold, and three large crystals were in placed in the center of the crown. A steel sword was visible by his hip, but is seemed like he wasn't able to use it. He had a youthful look and irresponsible eyes darted everywhere.

"I am Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath. Welcome to Falkreath Legionnare." he spoke with a arrogant tone. He was sitting lazily on his throne and I clenched my fists. But he was a Jarl. He didn't deserve any respect.

"I am Quaestor Gaius Marius of the Legion. I need some information." I said. I intentionally let out the part of dragon attack on Helgen, wanting to see his reaction.

"And what do you need?" he asked impatiently.

"I need to know if the boy has any family." and with the mention of him, Haming came up and bowed meekly.

"And who do you think you are, bringing a boy to me?" he asked angrily. I wanted to cleave this man in half, but I couldn't. So fucking arrogant!

"Jarl Siddgier. This boy is the last survivor of a dragon attack on Helgen. A village in your hold." I said and the Atlmer steward next to him gasped.

"Dragon attack? What kinda of skooma are you on?" Siddgier asked, and laughed. His laughter died down when I looked at him with a serious stare.

"Listen my _Jarl, _that Dragon slaughtered an entire unit of Legionnares. An entire village was razed to the fucking ground. Now, where can I find the family of this boy!" I growled fiercely. I hated Siddgier.

"Nenya! Where can you find the family of, what is his name?" Siddgier asked meekly. I smiled a small grin, and smirked in victory. Siddgeir was weak.

"His name is Haming." I said. A few hours later, after much trouble and everything, Haming was loaded onto a wagon where an old man drove it. His grandfather,a man that fought in the Great War had adopted him after being notified by pigeon. His grandfather lived in a shack that also served as a pigeon rest stop, and was honorable and noble. He took Haming without hesitation.

As I walked down the steps towards the barracks, a beat of hooves across dirt alerted me to the left. It was Thane Dengeir, on a black horse along with two guards of Falkreath, He was clad in black steel armor, with a blue sash of Falkreath. He stopped by me and got of his horse. The former Jarl was an honorable man and I had great respect for the man.

"Quaestor Marius?" he asked.

"Yes Thane Dengeir?" I said politely. He was of Clan Elk-Wood, the ruling clan in Falkreath.

"You are the one that brought the words of dragons?"

"Yes Thane."

"You are a Legionnare. I remember you from the Markarth Incident." and immediately memories started again.

"And why do you remember me?" I asked.

"Clan Elk-Wood remembers its friends. This was your fathers." and he pulled a black cloth. Unfurling it, it was a black scabbard, with a blue pommel.

"And how do you know my father?" I asked.

"He is of Clan High-Watcher. The last. He entrusted that sword to me. Remember, this is my gift to you." and I unsheathed the blade. I saw a polished blade. It was a finely made steel sword with Nordish runes. A faint blue glow was seen and I flashed back to my family's home before the Incident.

"Why do you give this to me?" I asked. My father had been a Legionnare but had return to Skyrim because of my mother. My mother was a Nord that had fallen in love with him.

"Battle of the Imperial City." and I was confused.

"The Imperial City?" I asked, wanting to know what he meant.

"We both fought under the Black Banner."

**Sorry for the rushing of the chapter. So the sword's name will be revealed next chapter. Please review and thanks for DraGonnized for reviewing. Also to DrunkerNord91, and both of their stories are about the civil war. Both are awesome so read them! And thanks for the reviews! And Simon Stormcloak, I made her a Tribune because I thought,"Well wait. They are based off Imperial Rome, and I was made a Legate. But she is a Captain. So let me just switch it to Tribune, because I want to stay real to the ranks. She's dead anyway, so doesn't matter if she's a captain or Tribune, because shes dead. Plus thanks for the review. I'll try and work on my grammar.**

**The B**


	3. Chapter 3

**The Black Banner**

**Thanks for all the reviews and support. Here's a new chapter. Also, I want to know if you want me to do multiple P.O.V.S like what BDLG or DraGonnized are doing. Also when I said a five thousand people in Falkreath, now its twenty thousand. Also there are more villages, because I'm converting some of the ruined forts and ruins as villages. I mean seriously, I don't think bandits and outlaws, and Forsworn outnumber the population of Skyrim.**

The events of the last of the few days have in been in a blur. My clan sword was in my personal chest, and I continued to carry my imperial forged steel sword. The Jarls of Skyrim were actually meeting in Whiterun for the Moot. It seems that Ulfric called it, so we could try to resolve the Civil War without resorting to bloodshed, though the Palace of Kings was going to be my new home once we got there. If this Moot failed, and I was called up from Falkreath to siege Windhelm.

I really didn't believe this Moot would change anything. I mean, Ulfric killed the High King, a guy named Torygg, if memory serves, and now he's trying to pull of this Nordic custom crap. I was in the barracks in Falkreath, meeting with the Auxilaries under my command when a young Imperial scout burst into the room, his back arched and heavily panting.

"Quaestor!" he shouted and I covered my ears. He looked at me sheepishly for yelling, and he then dipped a hand into a side pouch. A second later, a scroll was in his hands, and he held it out, waiting for me to grab it. I grabbed it out of his hand, thanked him, and then he left, huffing all the while. I hated messengers, for they usually brought bad news.

"What does it say Quaestor?" asked Auxilary Strom. He was a Redguard, hailing from the Alik'r Desert, and was clad in studded imperial leather, and carried a scimitar. He was raised and trained by the Alik'r, and thus the reason he carried a scimitar.

"Let me see." and I undid the scroll. The scroll had the seal of Winterhold, and I gasped in surprise as I unfurled the scroll.

Quaestor Marius,

I am Jarl Korir of Winterhold. I write this to you because of your father. Winterhold will always remember what he did for us, and I just wanted to say thank you for your father. I hope to see you at the Moot, and talk to you about your father. Until then, may Talos guide you.

_Jarl Korir._

The Jarl of Winterhold, a small city to the north, bordering with the Sea of Ghosts and Dawnstar, was writing to me about something my father did. What did my father do? I don't know, but I have to pursue this. I know almost nothing, just that he was an Imperial soldier, fought with the Thane of Falkreath, and died in the Markarth Incident, one of the main reasons why I joined the Legion, the others being for my mother to move to Bravil in Cyrodiil, and because of the pay.

"Its from the Jarl of Winterhold, Strom." I started. Strom was like a brother to me, and since people in Skyrim got separated or killed, people tended to bond quickly. Strom was an easy going guy, but was serious when it came to the Legion.

"What did he say?" asked Strom. He was a naturally curious kid, so I indulged him.

"Its says that he wanted to meet me at the Moot in Whiterun." and Strom stopped asking questions, and I was glad he did. As the other Auxilaries milled around, for we were on break till journey to the Moot. We had been chosen as the Legate's personal guard, for his guards had been sent to Fort Neugard for reinforcements.

"Quaestor!" and I snapped to attention when Legate Skulnar, stepped into the barracks. His Imperial steel armor shined in the barracks room, though no light penetrated its walls.

"Yes Legate!" the Auxilares and me said in unison.

"At ease Legionnares. We are being sent to Whiterun. A temporary cease-fire is in effect. Gear up. The convoy leaves in an hour." and we saluted. The Legate returned before exiting the room again, and I felt as giddy as a Nord who just killed his first man.

The convoy was a small train of baggage of Jarl Siddgeir's personal guard and himself, and we were just hitching a ride. The Legate was needed for security means, for he was overseeing the security for General Tullius.

"Auxilaries. Get your weapons and bows. We head out in one hour." and a rush of activity made the rest of the hour a blur. Soon we were settled down and heading straight for Whiterun. As the bumpy wheels of the wagon we were on felt the smooth stone road, I saw the red orange glow of the sun start to glide down, hidden by the forest. We soon past a small village, no more than five people, and I got off, in order to make sure the convoy continued on. Jarl Siddgeir was waving down at the farmers, and they sneered at him. Anger gleamed in his eyes, but we continued on.

I soon found myself next to the Legate, and he was on his pale orange-brown horse, walking next to the Jarl. As soon as I approached, he turned to me.

"Quaestor. I need you to scout out the road past Helgen. Just you." and I saluted, and headed out, bow and sword strapped. As the forest continued on, I soon saw the burnt out remains of Helgen, the walls scorched with burn marks, and the 4th Legion banner burnt to crisps.

"The Divines." I muttered. It had been only a few days, though Helgen looked like it had been abandoned for years. As I slowly approached it, I heard something, no _someone_, and I wondered who it was. It looked like it came from Helgen. The gate had been blasted open by the dragon's fire breath, and I slowly crouched down, my imperial light boots softening my approach.

"And I say Seth, Siddgeir is going to kill us!" a stark mad voice raved. A deep grunt I heard, and I poked my head, not trying to expose myself. I saw three men, clad in furs and hide armor, near the keep where they last saw Urab and Hadvar. Four more similarly clad men were near the old inn, on a makeshift table, playing dice.

"Siddgeir won't break our deal." the deep voice I heard grunt earlier said. He was a powerful looking Nord, and wore an Iron helmet. He was armed with a giant warhammer, made of steel or iron. It was finely made, like something from the Skyforge.

"But there are only eight of us. If he decides to send a contingent of men to wipe us out.." and he was cut off by a deep boom.

"Shut up! He won't betray us! We might be bandits, but we still have honor!" and he soon grabbed his warhammer. His fellow bandit fell down in fear, and the bandit leader raised his hammer.

"Now. Take it back." the leader calmly said.

"No." and the hammer came down with a roar. The hammer caved the head in, and blood soon started to spurt out. I grimaced and I wondered what I was going to do. I came up out with a crazy idea five seconds later. None of them had bows, and I had my bow, made by the Solitude blacksmith before I left with General Tullius about a month ago.

I drew my bow, and slowly notched an iron arrow. Drawing it, I aimed it at a bandit next to the leader. Aiming it, I let it fly. I drew a breath in, praying secretly to Talos that it hit. I soon heard a small groan where the arrow hit. Blood was pouring out a wound in his chest, and the arrow was about three inches deep.

Notching another arrow, I drew it and aimed it at a bandit with no helmet. The other bandit had disappeared into the keep. The bandit with no helmet was on the floor, having passed out from the game. I let if fly, and let out a small smile of satisfaction. Even though its only been a few days since I first killed someone, I felt nothing. These men had sold their lives when they first started to steal and kill.

As I notched an arrow, was about to aim when a cry of alarm was emitted. It stunned me and I let the arrow fly, and it embedded itself into the dead inn. The bandit leader was now clad in full Banded Iron armor, and carried a massive great sword, no doubt looted from the armory.

"There he is!" and he pointed towards me. I slid my bow back onto my back, and I drew my sword, listening to the hissing of steel against my scabbard. The other bandits were drunk, so that gave me a chance, though I would have to watch out for the leader.

"Get him!" and the three bandits drunkenly drew their weapons, a molten of iron maces and axes. I charged at them, taking advantage of their confusion. I sent a sweeping thrust straight for the lead one, an Imperial by the looks of it, and managed to bat his blade away before he managed to bring up for display. I then sliced upwards and I took grim satisfaction when my sword easily penetrated his hide armor, he screaming in pain. I had cut his stomach, and the small slit emitted a small river of blood.

He soon fell to the ground, about to die from his injury. I took down the next one with a single swipe of my sword. The swipe slit his throat. He grasped it with both of his hands and fell down to his knees, and then he just fell again, this time on face. He died within seconds.

The next one just ran, for he was the smart one. I smirked in victory, and I faced the bandit leader.

"Looks like I killed your little group." and he just chuckled.

"Yes. But I have honor. The only reason I joined these fools, is because I owned them my life."and I recoiled in surprise. I had always assumed they did for shits and giggles.

"But you die today." and he charged. I raised my blade and parried his blow, and swept my sword near his knee. He leaped up with surprising agility, and brought his sword crashing down, hoping to crush me. I dodged in time, and the sword missed me by inches.

I stabbed forward, hoping to skewer him, but he blocked it with his sword, and spun it over his head, bringing in a downward arc towards my head. I ducked under it, and kicked him the stomach, winding him. His armor was too thick for me to do serious damage, and he raised his sword, and brought down again, with a roar of fury.

I buckled under the blow, and had to sidestep in order to avoid slipping on some stone. I then smashed my hilt across his helmet, making him stagger. I then whistled as he regained his balance and with a roar, he swept his right foot across my shin, making me fall down.

Damn that hurt. He was a freaking good swordsman, and he was now brooding in victory.

"It seems like I live today." and he laughed a crazy laugh. The sun was now midway to setting down, and the walls of Helgen bristled with the cries of the dead.

"It seems like you are wrong." and I did a spinning kick move, leaping back onto my feet, and making him crash down onto the ground. I grabbed my sword and immediately ran forward, my sword in flashing straight for his face. He managed to draw an iron knife, legendary by the looks of it, and throw it forward. I screamed inside, and felt the small knife bury into my shoulder armor, and the cold steel piercing my skin. Hisses of pain escaped from my mouth, and I cried out in pain.

The bandit then rushed to his feet, and kicked me down, making me hurt some more. I gasped as the cold blade tore itself out with the force of the blow, and I winced as the warm, metallic feel of blood started to flow.

"You are dead!" the bandit shouted and stood over me. I closed my eyes, waiting for the light to Sovngarde. But the blow never came. Instead, I heard a clanking of armor, and the scream of the bandit. I opened my eyes, and saw a very familiar Orc. He was clad in black armor, crafted from the Orc Strongholds. The helmet was shaped in sort-of a dragon's mouth, and black triangular plates made up the armor. Armored gloves covered his hands and he was grinning.

"You're welcome." the Orc grinned and pulled me up. I winced as the wound in my shoulder let out more blood and I hated it.

"What was your name Prisoner?" I asked.

"The name was Urab."

**And there you have it. Please review!**


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